Chapter Text
We may define therapy as a search for value.
-Abraham Maslow
Halver glanced up from his laptop at the people currently filing in his door. These should be Kevin Flynn, Sam Flynn, Clu Flynn, Alan Bradley, twins Tron and Rinzler Bradley, and Quorra... her last name was illegible, which, since he was reading this off of a computer screen, Halver couldn't help but think was intentional. Christ, these people gave their kids weird names.
He gestured to the half-circle of chairs as Quorra closed the door behind her, setting his computer to the side and taking a blank notebook out of the desk drawer. He'd found writing things by hand and transcribing them to the computer later made him more accessible. He cleared his throat. "All right, this is all of you, correct?" At the nods he got, he continued. "Good. Now, I have all of your names, but not faces to attach them to, so let's go around and say our names and a little bit about ourselves, shall we?" This produced more raised eyebrows and dry looks than nods, but Halver plunged ahead regardless.
"I'm Jason Halver. You can call me whatever you like, as long as you can get me to look at you when you say it. I've been a therapist for about five years now. Most people know this, but I'm required to tell you anyway: anything said or done in here is completely confidential. As long as that door is closed, there is a bubble of confidentiality around this office. Got it?" More nods and some vague noises of assent. Not a very lively bunch, then. "We'll go clockwise," he says, and motioned to the man next to him, who paused reluctantly and then started to speak.
"I'm Clu." There was an awkward silence while Clu apparently tried to come up with something he didn't mind sharing with the class, as it were. Eventually, he said, "I'm Flynn's... son. I was the leader of... another country for a long time, before... um... I came back. Yeah." Okay, so that had been painfully dragged out, along with a poorly constructed on-the-spot lie, but maybe the rest of them would be more willing to talk.
"That's Rinzler," the man sitting two down from Clu said. Evidently the one in between was Rinzler. "He had his... tongue cut out when I - he - we were... young, and now the most he can do is growl. He's my... twin, but he's much more... aggressive... than I am. Clu was his... um." The speaker cast a wild glance at Clu, who filled in the gap with, "Military commander in the small country I told you about," which, while still clearly a lie - the speaker was even worse at it than Clu - was at least a lot smoother-sounding.
"I'm Tron," the speaker, now named, continued. "I used to... work for ENCOM, before Flynn... um, sent me to live in the small country. Yes. Um. When Clu took - I mean, became the leader, I... went into hiding, because... I didn't... I wasn't... he wasn't... I didn't agree with his methods." By now Clu was hiding his face in his hand. Rinzler hadn't moved from his cross-armed slouch, and Tron's posture was so straight he could fit right into Victorian England.
"I'm Alan. I took over for Kevin as CEO, and helped raise Sam when Kevin... went to live in that small country for twenty years." The man who had to be Kevin winced. "Ah... I had Tron and Rinzler with my late wife Lora, around 1983, and... yeah." Apparently Alan had decided the better part of truth was brevity, and at least his little speech sounded more plausible than the others'.
"I'm Sam, I'm Da- Kevin's son, although Alan raised me from the time I was seven or so. Um... I only recently found out about the... small country, and I traveled there to convince Dad to come back. Um... I met Clu, Quorra, and Rinzler there-" Sam's hand unconsciously rubbed at his upper arm, until Kevin tapped it and Sam moved it away hastily. "And I met Tron later, when Dad had... taken back... leadership of the... country. Yeah."
"I'm Kevin. I'm both Sam and Clu's father, and I took Quorra in when... ah... her parents were killed in... a war. I was CEO of ENCOM for almost a decade, before I was... held up in the... small country."
Alan snorted at this. "'Held up' for twenty years," he said, but under his breath. Kevin paused and looked at the floor. "Yeah," he said, voice rough, and the conversation moved on.
"I'm Quorra," the lone woman said shyly. "I'm native to the... small country, and everything is very different here, so I'd like to learn as much as I can. My parents were killed in the... civil war, and I lived with Flynn for the thou- I mean, the twenty cy- years, the twenty years, that he was stuck in the Outlands. Of the small country," she amended quickly.
"Well," Halver said at the end of this little speech, "I hope you're not lying to me, seeing as I can't tell anyone else about it." The silence became pointedly uncomfortable, but no one said anything, so Halver decided to call their bluff. "Why don't you tell me some more about this small country. Where did you all live? What it is called?"
There was an exchanging of glances before Kevin spoke up. "Mostly, Quorra and I lived in the half of the country that's desert-like, called the Outlands. The rest live in... Nort City. The country itself is called... Dirg."
Interesting, but this had the ring of an allegory to it, running alongside a parallel conversation that Halver wasn't a part of. After a few seconds, Halver took control of the conversation - if it could be called that - again. "Really? I've never heard of that country."
"Oh, it's very small," said Sam, in a somewhat strangled voice. "One of those smaller-than-Rhode-Island places. It's somewhere in Europe."
Halver turned to Clu. "You claim yourself to be the leader of this country. Could you find it on a map for me?"
Clu shrugged. "Ah... I don't have much of a head for geography... I'm much more of a...."
"People person," Alan filled in, much to the amusement of Tron, who barked out a harsh laugh. Halver turned to him.
"Why is that funny?"
Tron shook his head, expression cynical and bitter. "If you knew the things he's ordered done...."
"Well, tell me, then," Helver invited. "I can't help you if I don't know what's going on."
Again, the exchange of glances, a silent conversation to which Halver wasn't privy. This time, though, he caught defiance from Quorra, and something almost like... cageyness from Clu. Odd, and definitely worth pursuing.
But whatever they'd said to each other, though their semi-telepathy - Halver was starting to think maybe it was telepathy - made Rinzler rumble, low in his throat. Tron glared at him, hand starting to reach over his shoulder, and Alan cleared his throat, stopping them both.
Halver intervened. “Is there anything you can tell me, even allegorically?” At their surprised looks, he raised an eyebrow. “Just because I don't know whatever the rest of you do doesn't mean I'm stupid. Why don't you give me a rough history of... Dirg?”
Kevin rubbed the back of his neck. “Because we can't,” he said, answering Halver's question literally.
“Why not?”
“It's...” Kevin stopped and looked around the room. “Complicated,” the rest of them, minus Rinzler, said, more or less in unison.
“I can see that,” Halver said drily. “That's my job, though, to figure out the complicated things.” He braced his elbows on the desk and waited. He didn't have to wait long.
“Alan_1-” Tron started, then shut his mouth with a click.
Halver looked at him curiously. “What were you going to say?”
Tron glanced at Alan guiltily, then said, “Nothing,” in a small voice.
“You said 'Alan-One' like a name, or a title. Why call him that?”
Tron looked at Halver like the answer was obvious, or should be. “That... is... his desig-” was as far as he got before Rinzler's hand covered his mouth.
Faster than anyone else could react, Rinzler was on the floor, one arm twisted behind him and Tron's knee in his back. Tron's hand was clenched in an oddly-shaped claw about a foot from the back of Rinzler's neck, like he expected something to be there that wasn't. His voice was shaking with venom and rage. “Touch me again and I swear I will derezz you,” he hissed.
Clu dropped his head into his hand. Tron seemed to come back to reality a little, blinking, and noticed where he was and what he was doing. The claw his hand was in loosened, and he stared at it like he expected it to change color or something. Halver was completely lost, but Alan seemed to know what was going on, saying, “Tron-”
“I can't,” Tron cut him off, low and as harsh as his movements. “I- Users, forgive me,” he whispered, and bolted from the room.
Alan started after him, then let out a breath and turned back to Halver. “Go,” Halver said. “I don't think we're going to get anything more done today.” Alan left, walking as quickly as he could without seeming out of place.
One by one, the others left as well, although Halver noticed that none of them went the same way as Tron and Alan had. Eventually it was just Rinzler and Clu left. Halver came around his desk to help Rinzler up. “Are you all right?”
He was met with a hissing snarl from the man, and, taking the hint, backed up quickly. Rinzler stood and almost immediately settled into- Well, if Halver didn't know better, he'd call it a hunting crouch. But that was ridiculous. People weren't animals.
“Rinzler!” Clu's voice was a whipcrack, and it served the same purpose in getting Rinzler's attention. “Stand down.” Well, Halver could believe that he’d led a small country with that tone of voice.
Rinzler growled, although it was more like a harsh metallic purr than anything Halver had heard before. He flowed out of the crouch and into a sort of half-bow – clearly a subservient gesture. Clu nodded. “Good. Follow.” They left, Rinzler shadowing Clu almost literally.
Halver sighed and scrubbed at his face with both hands. Well, that had gone... interestingly. He wouldn't say well, judging by how it had ended. But – there had been something – oh.
Tron had lied. When Rinzler had hissed at Halver, he'd opened his mouth most of the way, and his tongue was completely whole.
Halver made a mental note to bring coffee to subsequent meetings with these people. He had a feeling he was going to need it.